2019-02-18_aallard_To the son of the man in room 207.docx

To the Son of the Man in Room #207

I see you come and go. Your visits use to be longer and closer together. Now, you barely visit more than 2 or 3 times a month for only a few minutes. Each time you leave, I can see a little more hope be left behind. Like playing a video game and watching the lifeline turn from green to red when you run out of time.
I know that’s it’s frustrating that he no longer remembers your name. I can see your heart break when he calls you by your older brothers’ name, as if you never existed. I feel your pain when your children are afraid of him because he speaks nonsense or doesn’t say anything at all. I feel your hesitation to hug him because he stopped eating and he’s so frail now. You don’t hold his hand or touch him anymore because you are afraid that you may hurt him.
Please don’t stop trying. Please do not lose hope. I know that it is scary and hurtful to watch a person whom you once looked up to, wither into a frail, lethargic man. You may think it is pointless because he no longer responds to you, but I promise, it is not.
He is in there. He knows that you are there. He may not recognize your face, but he is comforted by it. He may not smile or react to you, but he feels you. He can feel your love and your energy. He may not understand why, but just the fact that you are there, makes all the difference to him.
Continue to visit. Bring him flowers. Show him pictures. Listen to old music he enjoyed. Dab him with his favourite after shave. Bring him a favourite snack. He is still the man he once was, he is just tucked away under an illness.  He knows when you are not there. He knows that something is missing from his life. 
So please, don’t give up on him.